


Noble Intentions

by janinne_malfoy_potter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Falling In Love, First Time, Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M, Manipulative Dumbledore, Minor Violence, Romance, Suicide Attempt, Top!Harry Bottom!Draco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:03:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2750381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janinne_malfoy_potter/pseuds/janinne_malfoy_potter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rain is coming towards the Hogwarts castle, but a real storm begins in Harry's head after he finds a suspicious notebook in Draco Malfoy's locker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters and settings in this story, and although I might wish it were differently, they are solely the property of J. K. Rowling. No profit made.
> 
> I am sorry for the SPaG issues (I am not a native speaker), beta would be most welcome :)
> 
> Rated M now (mostly because of the suicide issue) but might eventually become Explicit in later chapters.

The wind blew strongly from the lake, lifting leaves and dust from the ground and biting angrily into Harry’s cheeks. Storm was coming. A few days ago, the weather had been still beautiful, the sun caressed faces, slight breeze ruffled hair, making everyone smile. Now, however, the sky was boring, depressing grey, clouds hanging so low it made you think you could touch them, heavy with water waiting to fall down and make everything wet and muddy. It definitely didn’t lighten the mood in the castle where students were hunted by stress from exams planned for the following weeks. The only relaxing activity was Quidditch and everyone who had a little time to be away from the library or learning groups was usually present at the Quidditch pitch where teams practised almost constantly. Everyone was excited especially about the upcoming finale between Gryffindor and Slytherin and both teams were doing their best to not disappoint their supporters.

Harry walked slowly to the broom shed, having just ended his practice. Ron had decided to stay behind with a couple of other players, lazy to get into the learning routine Hermione put all of them through lately. Harry knew she meant well, but everyone was slowly becoming fed up with her constant nagging. He didn’t care much. There were more important things for him to do than sitting in the Common room and staring into a book, pretending to be reading. He could do that as well in his bed which was far more comfortable. Or he could just lie in his bed, stare at the Marauder’s Map and actually _concentrate_.

Malfoy was up to something and no one cared. Even his best friends didn’t believe him. It seriously kind of pissed him off. They could at least try to believe his instincts for once. Harry knew they were far from flawless, it was his fault Sirius was dead, after all, but the lack of belief from them disappointed him because he was simply _sure_. What disappointed him the most, though, was the lack of interest in the whole matter from the side of teachers and, most importantly, Dumbledore. He behaved as if the incident with Katie and Ron hadn’t happened. One would expect a proper investigation, but Harry wasn’t aware of any such activity. Something was wrong, something was going on, and if his friends didn’t see it, or didn’t _want_ to see it _,_ then he didn’t care. He would find out anyway, eventually.

Harry had reached the broom shed and was approaching the place where he usually stored his _Firebolt_ when running steps caught his attention. Ernie Macmillan, the Hufflepuff prefect, was hurriing towards the castle. He didn’t notice Harry and just ran off and when nothing else happened, Harry just shrugged and placed his broomstick in its place before leaving the shed, already looking forward to having a nice hot shower in the locker room. Who would have thought that June could be so cold? It felt a little bit like an omen. In the hindshight, at least.

He entered the locker room, finally hidden from the reach of the cold air and possibility to get soaked in rain. The rooms were silent and empty, steam still covering the part where bathroom was located from its previous use by the Slytherin players, with whom Gryffindors shared this place. He started to take off his gear when an open locker caught his eye. It was weird because everyone always kept their lockers safely closed. Not because they were afraid of a theft, but because it was quite usual that the players pulled pranks on each other. And no one was particularly happy with gear covered in glue or coloured shiny pink. This locker, however, was half-open and since no one was in sight, Harry decided to check whose belongings were in it and let them know so they could lock it safe.

There wasn’t anything particularly suspicious in the locker. Everything was neatly stored in place, Quidditch gear, big green and grey towels and a leather, expensive looking school bag. Hold a minute, a school bag? Who would leave their schoolbag in an unlocked locker room? Who would bring a school bag there in the first place? Harry, being as impulsive as ever, didn’t bother with privacy matters and took the bag from the locker, effectively destroying the neat tidiness. He stuffed his hand inside to come up with the first book which got into his hand.

 _Moste Potente Potions_ read the title and Harry frowned. He had known this book particularly well since his second year at Hogwarts, despite the fact that it was a book from the Restricted section of the library. And for a good reason, too. He opened the tome searching for the names of people having borrowed it in the past. He flicked through its pages and finally, on the inner side of the back cover, was a small card attached. Only a few names were mentioned since not so many people took interest in very dangerous poitions and even less of them got their hands on this book. Hermione was listed there, then a couple of Ravenclaws, and there, in the last line, it was. The name of one and only Draco Malfoy.

Harry gaped at the paper for a while before grinnigh winningly. Even Hermione would find the fact that Draco Malfoy had borrowed this book highly suspicious. He was sure of it, considering Hermione’s state after Ron had been almost killed. By a very rare and dangerous _poison_. That couldn't have been a coincidence.

Harry looked around the locker room to make completely sure he was alone and then opened the bag all the way. It was his only chance, he told himself while rummaging through its contents. Malfoy might have been hiding something in there, something which would give him away and Harry would find it.

To be fair, he wasn't even sure what he was looking for, but disappointment from finding nothing except a few neatly stored quills and parchments, couple of text books and a package of small chocolates stung anyway. He had almost given up and started to put the things back, when a small rectangular bump on the inner side of the bag caught his attention. A _secret_ pocket? His heart started to beat faster with excitement, as he tried to find a way to extract whatever it was hidden in the bag and, after having found none, he opted for a quick _Diffindo_. A small sharp cut appeared, but it was enough for him to stick a couple of fingers inside and get hold of the object.

It was only a small black notebook, its covers, framed by tiny silver lines, held firmly together by a delicate silver lock. He wanted to open it and see what was hidden inside, but the lock didn’t let him in. He thought about an appropriate spell, but then decided against it. He didn’t know what the notebook contained and as far as he knew, it could have been filled with some dark magic. He had to think it through first and maybe get help from Hermione. When he thought about it a bit more, everything seemed wrong. Malfoy’s bag left there for everyone to see, stuffed with dangerous books and secret notebooks, waiting to be found. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t give it much thought, but this was Malfoy. All Harry’s instincts screamed that something was off about the whole situation. So he put everything into its original state and returned the bag to its place in the locker, half closing the door. He changed into his unifom, skipping his planned shower, already eager to inform Hermione about his findings. When he checked the room one last time before leaving, the only evidence of what had happened was the weight of the notebook in his pocket.

 

 

As he climbed through the portrait hole, his eyes already looking for Hermione, he was surprised to see Ron first. He hadn’t expected him there, not yet. Then he took the whole situation in and frowned. Ron was sitting in front of the fire, firmly clutching a cup in slightly shivering hands, his hair damp as if he had just come from a pool and his face looked green. Hermione was perched on a neighbouring armchair, gently talking to him, but Ron didn’t seem to hear her, still unblinkingly staring in front of him as if seeing a ghost. The few other people present in the Common room were talking excitedly, giving Ron looks here and then. Harry climbed all the way in and was headed to his best friends, but Collin Creevey, the ever present fifth year, approached him first.

“What do you think happened, Harry?” he fired before even greeting him.

“What do you mean exactly?” Harry asked and frowned a bit more at the expression Colin wore. It was the one which half of the school wore whenever something terrible happened. That kind of pure excitement from getting something to gossip about, even though the circumstances might be less then pleasurable. Colin’s eyes shone with it, as he clutched his camera in his hands as if it were something precious.

“About Malfoy, of course.” Colin raised an eyebrow expectantly, obviously waiting for what Harry had to say about the matter. His face fell a bit when Harry only gaped at him without a clue.

“I still have no idea what you’re...” he didn’t even finish his sentence, before Hermione appeared at his side, giving Colin one of her pointed glares.

“Back off, Colin, did you hear me?” she hissed at the boy, grabing Harry’s arm and tugging him behind her towards the fireplace and Ron. Harry knew right away he would be told something he wouldn’t like at all.

“Hermione, what...?”

“Wait, Harry, Ron will tell you,” she said as if that explained everything. She pointed Harry to another armchair, this time opposite to Ron's and sat at her previous place. Ron, however, didn’t look as if he was going to tell anything to anyone in the moment. His face wasn’t green anymore, but its colour wasn’t natural healthy one, either. The feeling of dread in Harry’s gut seemed even stronger now.

“Ron? Mate, what’s with you? What happened?” Harry tried silently. Ron looked at him with an empty look in his eyes. “Ron?” Again nothing, only a stare. “Hermione, “ Harry turned to his friend, who was now biting on her fingernails nevoursly. She only did this when she was to deliver some unpleasant news. It didn’t help Harry much. “Could you maybe explain to me what the bloody hell is going on? Has someone died or what?” As soon as he had asked the last question, shivers ran down his spine.

She looked away, but then finally turned her head in his direciton and opened her mouth to speak.

“We thought you might have already heard,” she started.

“Well, I obviously haven’t.” Harry was getting annoyed. “So will you tell me now?”

“I don’t know everything, Harry, only what McGonagall told me and what I’ve managed to get out of Ron, but one thing is for sure. Malfoy is in the Hospital wing. Harry, he tried to commit suicide.” Harry’s world shuddered. That could not have been true. It must have been some mistake.

“What? How? Who found him?” was all he managed to say.

“Apparently, after you left, the others went flying around the grounds and they saw him near the lake. And when Ron went to find out what was going on, he noticed his sliced wrists. Ernie ran for Madame Pomfrey and they took him to the castle.” _So that is what the rush was for_ , Harry realised, but nothing made sence to him. Malfoy and a suicide? It was for sure some prank, some stupid game he played to get attention. Then he looked at Ron. Maybe not, then.

“And will he make it? Will he be alright?”

“That’s the thing, Harry. No one knows. The blood loss was serious but it was already dealt with and he should have been better by now. But he isn’t. He thought this all obviously through, because he took some poison, too. This wasn’t done to mess with us. He seriously wanted to die, Harry. He made sure no one could save him.” Harry stared at her in complete shock. So it was true. Malfoy really cut his wrists wide open and took a poison to ensure it. He slumped back into the armchair, let his head fall back and closed his eyes.

“Harry, there was blood, so much blood...” Ron’s voice suddenly cut through the silence. It was trembling. “And his eyes... so empty. I’ve never seen anything like that.” He sounded like he might faint any second. Harry looked at his friend’s face and decided that sitting there doing nothing wouldn’t help anything. He stood up and gestured to Hermione.

“We should get him upstairs, he needs some rest,” he explained and took Ron under one of his shoulders, Hermione doing the same on the other side. They helped Ron get up and draged him slowly upstairs. Harry was silently thanking God it was possible for girls to come up to boys’ dorms. He helped Ron to lie down, while Hermione supplied them all with another steaming cups of tea and made herself comfortable on Neville’s bed which neighboured Ron’s, too. Harry sat on his own bed, trying to come to terms with everything that had happened that day, when a sharp pain traveled through his right thigh. He, startled, touched the place through his trousers when he realised the cause. It was corner of Malfoy’s secret notebook, which was, as Harry noticed right now, covered in metal, its edges sharp as knives. He had almost forgotten about this notebook, all he could think of before was the bag in the locker rooms. Now it all made sense. Malfoy didn't need the bag anymore. He had known he wouldn’t need it.


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the evening was a confusing one for Harry. When he eventually got to bed, he just stared at the canopy above him, his mind swirling. He couldn’t imagine why Malfoy would have done such a _stupid_ thing as trying to kill himself. He had never seemed as an overly emotional person, in fact, he had looked and behaved the exact opposite, so Harry doubted that any kind of emotional distress would have made him cut his wrists open. Of course, there was always the possibility of Malfoy being an incredibly talented actor and a proper Hufflepuff inside, but Harry definitely didn’t give this explanation any weight. It wasn’t as if he thought that Malfoy was an emotionless bastard. Well, he _was_ a bastard, but Harry himself had seen him crying and he seriously considered slapping himself for his own reaction to that every time he remembered it.

 It was a couple of weeks since he had come across the Slytherin in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom and done probably the most stupid and cruel thing in his life. Had he known what _Sectumsempra_ could cause, he would never have used it, or at least that was what he liked to tell himself. But the memory of the bleeding boy on the bathroom floor wasn’t the one that actually haunted him. It was his own reaction to Malfoy’s state, the wave of emotions so strong that it had made him blind and act without any second thoughts. He had attacked an obviously upset person, and the fact that Malfoy could have died by his wand was the worst of all. And now the boy was lying in the Infirmary, probably fighting for his own life, for a life he had deliberately decided to end. And maybe it hadn’t had to happen if Harry had reacted differently all those weeks ago. He felt like he failed someone, if it was Malfoy or himself, he wasn’t sure. He had to find the reason Malfoy had taken such an ultimate decision. There simply had to be more to it than emotions, of that Harry was positive. 

After a while of trying to solve the mystery, he fished the notebook from beneath his pillow and tried again all of the spells he knew to open it, although he had suspected they wouldn’t work even before the words left his mouth. And quite unsurprisingly, the book kept on being firmly closed and Harry kept getting frustrated. He shoved it back under the pillow and stubbornly refused to think about it anymore, trying to fall asleep. However, when he closed his eyes, all he could see was blood and Malfoy’s face twisted in pain. The sleep that overcame him a couple minutes later wasn’t restful at all.

 

The next morning found Harry, to Hermione’s delight and Ron’s horror, in library searching for any kind of opening spells there were. He was determined to find a solution, because he could feel in his bones that the book was the key. And he would open it even if it meant getting up very early in the morning and earning odd looks from his friends. It seemed that he got lucky, though, as Hermione was happy Harry had finally discovered the beauty of books and kept silent. And for Ron, well, he had discovered the beauty of Hermione, so he was silent, too, except for his loud complaints about not being on time for breakfast and missing all the fresh bacon. It was obvious he had gotten over the shock from the previous evening.  

It didn’t take long that morning for the topic of Malfoy’s suicide attempt to be brought up. Seamus looked as if his Christmas had come early, his face beaming with happiness about the new gossip. He wasn’t cruel in opinion of most of his classmates, simply because Malfoy really was a git and he wasn’t really _dead_ anyway, so no actual harm was done.  The Gryffindor wasn’t the only one, the whole school sounded like one impressive beehive.  Harry didn’t feel like joining it, though. It just felt _wrong_. A fellow student had almost died and there definitely wasn’t anything to be happy about, even though it was _Malfoy_. The only people who seemed to share his thoughts were Hermione, and to Harry’s mild surprise, Neville Longbottom. The latter one wasn’t smiling at all, only watching his closest friends with sour expression but he kept silent, lips firmly pressed together. Hermione, on the other hand, had obviously decided to let everybody know what exactly she thought about their behaviour and was loudly lecturing Ron about why he shouldn’t find anything Seamus or anyone else said hilarious.

By lunchtime, the volume of gossips reached its peak and the school was flooded by hundreds of possible reasons for what Malfoy had done the day before. Some of them were modest enough, the others, though, were absolutely sick and anyone who had come up with them should have been sent to St. Mungo’s immediately, Harry thought.  When the newest one saying that Malfoy had tried to kill himself because he’d found his mother in bed with Snape and couldn’t deal with it because he’d been in love with the Potion Master himself had reached Harry’s ears, he got angry. It was just too much. And he would know, because usually it was _him_ who the gossip was aim at. Ron, however, together with the other Gryffindors, found it funny and broke down in a laughing fit, although to his credit, unlike his friends, he actually tried to suppress it. Probably because of Hermione. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Neville beat him to it.

“Drop it,” he said calmly to his classmates, although a bit of anger was possible to be heard in his voice, since it was trembling slightly.

“Oh, come on, mate, it’s just awesome. The one who came up with it should get a _medal_ ,” Seamus managed to get from himself before laughing some more. Harry personally thought they should get a kick in the stomach.

“ _Awesome?_ ” now Neville, to everyone’s surprise, raised his voice, “Could any of you tell me what exactly is so awesome about this? Because I just don’t see it.” Now everyone around them stopped talking and only gaped at the scene. It wasn’t usual to hear the clumsy boy let anyone know his opinions in such a public and loud manner. It also made Seamus stop laughing and that had to mean something.

“He was a right prat, it’s not as if he didn’t have it coming,” he voiced his thoughts, but didn’t sound as sure of himself as he had a minute ago. Obviously, it wasn’t the right answer, because now it was Hermione’s turn to speak up.

“He had it coming? Are you really that dumb, Seamus?” she started and put her hands on her hips, glaring at them dangerously. “Of course, he deserved a proper punch in the face, but from someone else. He tried to kill _himself_ , you nitwits! Don’t you see the difference?” It was obvious that Dean had to swallow the urge to snap _No_ right back at her, but one look at the girl was enough to keep the words in.

It took a while to let her words sink in, but the moment it finally happened was easily recognisable. Her words effected not only the three of them but everyone who had heard her and many of the people even had the decency to look at least a bit ashamed. The others just stared at Hermione with evident interest, most of them having never heard her say anything even partially offending to anyone, not to mention for Malfoy’s sake. Harry only grinned to himself, happy to have such an amazing friend as the bushy-haired girl was. He also wished to see Malfoy’s reaction to the fact that a _Muggleborn_ , who he’d insulted whenever given a chance, actually stood up for him.

When the sun had set that day, Harry was again in his dormitory playing with the notebook. Harry knew he should have told someone about it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was a whole day since the news about Draco’s suicide had flooded the castle and Harry knew that if he brought the book up now, it would mean a lot of explaining, at least to Ron and Hermione, about why exactly he hadn’t said anything sooner. And explaining himself to anyone wasn’t really an activity he was eager to do, mainly because he didn’t know why he had kept the book _himself_. No, he wouldn’t tell anyone about it, at least until he’d know the contents of it. Of course, he could already hear Hermione’s nagging voice telling him how stupid it was to try to open a book belonging to a son of a Death Eater and possibly full of nasty curses. To be honest, Harry knew that Hermione would have been probably right, because the notebook was at least charmed, if the way none of the spells he had tried to open it, even those he had found in the library, seemed to work was anything to go by.

There was no official news about Malfoy’s condition, only that the Slytherin had been placed in a small private room next to the Infirmary in order to keep other patients and unwelcome visitors from oggling him. It was probably the right decision to make, because even though noone was allowed to see him, except for the school staff of course, there always were students in front of the door trying to get a glimpse of Malfoy’s almost lifeless body. After a couple of useless attempts to get them away, Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape had both agreed that more drastic approach had to be taken and started giving detentions to everyone who as much as showed an intention to have a look inside the Infirmary with other goal than to get medical treatment. That didn’t stop the most curious students from getting what they wanted, though, since the number of cases of headache and vomiting increased rapidly, probably thanks to Weasley Wizard Wheezes’ magical items. And so Malfoy had to be moved into private. From what Harry’d heard during the day and what hadn’t seemed as an utter nonsense, the boy had recovered from the blood loss quickly, but the cause of his coma was unknown and even Madame Pomfrey seemed to be at a loss.

Harry had considered visiting his school nemesis for a couple of hours that day, but there was always a reason to ban these thoughts from the front of his mind. He had no particular reason to do so, after all. But now, in the darkness of the dormitory, the idea turned up again and there wasn’t anything else to think about, except for the book. And that didn’t help much, either. Something draw him to the Infirmary, that was all he knew. He wasn’t sure what it exactly was, and at first he thought it might be only some sick kind of morbid curiosity. But it felt like something more, something he couldn’t put his finger on quite yet. After a while of trying to come up with a solid reason why exactly he shouldn’t go, his nerves snapped. He put the notebook into his pocket, threw the Invisibility Cloak over himself and left the bedroom.

And that was how he ended up in the room smelling of medical potions of all kinds, darkness lightened up only by moonlight from outside. He watched the boy calmly lying in the lonely bed in front of him. Malfoy looked as though he was sleeping, but the unnaturally (even for a Malfoy) pale face indicated otherwise and if Harry didn’t know differently, he would have believedo him to be dead. His silvery hair were spread around his face and all over the pillow and the moonlight made them shine so it looked as a halo, which was a bit ironic considered whose those hair was. Harry realised that this was the first time he had a proper look at the boy in the whole six years he had known him and if he was honest with himself, he had to admit he liked what he was seeing. The pale face was delicate and even despite its unhealthy shade it looked as if made of porcelain. As if even a mild breeze could break it. Malfoy’s eyes were closed, long blond eyelashes casting light shadows over his cheeks. Harry had to fight the urge to touch the contours of Malfoy’s cheekbones, to brush his eyebrows with his finger. He looked almost _beautiful_ and the realisation hit Harry like a Bludger, together with the realization that it could have easily been him who had put him in this state.

Harry didn’t know how long he spent there looking at the boy, it might have been minutes or hours. He would have stayed even longer but the cold in the room had let him know it was time to leave. He threw his Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders and with one last look towards the bed silently headed back to his dorm. A few minutes later, already snuggled under warm blankets, his mind was still all those floors down, with the boy who used to be his biggest worry, right after Voldemort himself. Now, though, all he saw when he closed his eyes was the pale lifeless face and on his mind was only one question. _Why have you done it?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so after Christmas, here's another chapter. I'm sorry it took so long, but I simply didn't have time in between the holidays, I was abroad and then work and exams at school came. Next chapter won't take so long ;) I am also working on a new chapter of Of Broken Souls. 
> 
> Now, I hope you enjoy this!

The next couple of days didn’t bring anything new, to the majority of the student population, at least. The castle was still full of gossip and Harry felt like he might snap any moment. His head hurt and the amount of the Pepper Up potion he had consumed bordered on being dangerous, he was sure. He hadn’t managed to sleep almost at all during the previous nights, mostly because he had spent a couple of hours of each of them with Malfoy at the Hospital Wing and when he had been physically in his bed, his mind had been downstairs with the blond Slytherin anyway. He didn’t know why he kept going there, both in the actual and mental way, but he was telling himself that he was simply curious (about what exactly he wasn’t sure), at first, at least. The truth was, his life wasn’t the same without Malfoy and it felt oddly empty. Harry expected a piercing glare and a sneer every time he looked towards the Slytherin table or a nasty remark whenever he entered the Potion classroom and when the only thing starring back at him was an empty space between Crabbe and Goyle, it was like getting punched. He was _missing_ Malfoy and although it sounded highly unlikely, Harry had to admit that this development had probably been inevitable. Malfoy had been a part of his life since the first day he’d known about the wizarding world and, even though Harry had strongly disliked the Slytherin, he had wished to see the boy more than once during the first summer holidays, if only to remind himself that the previous year hadn’t been a sick joke his own mind had been playing on him. Many things had changed since then, but Malfoy had never failed to be nearby to laugh at Harry, to make his blood boil, to make him feel _alive_. It wasn’t as though Harry liked him any more than he had all those years ago, but he still missed him in a weird way. He knew that if he voiced these thoughts to anyone, they would advise him to visit he Janus Thickey Ward immediately and the first time Harry’d admitted it to himself, he had thought he would do just that. But the more he tried to think about how impossible it had been for him to actually miss Malfoy, the more real it felt and Harry was getting desperate.

Malfoy’s condition didn’t show any improvement. When Harry had visited him the previous night, he had merely lain in his white-clothed bed and hadn’t moved one inch, his chin firmly pointed towards the ceiling. Beside that, only Malfoy’s blond hair and his unhealthy white skin had indicated who their owner had been. However, no one seemed to be particularly bothered by that, Madame Pomfrey being the only exception. Harry was getting annoyed by the development.  It was a third incident in a row during that year which deserved a proper investigation, or at least a bit of concern, but nothing of that kind was happening and it didn’t seem it would in the near future, either. Dumbledore kept being hidden in his office and acted as if nothing had happened. Harry felt something was going on but he couldn’t put his finger on it and it irked him. He had tried to talk to Dumbledore himself about it one morning, but the Headmaster had merely nodded his head, saying that he had been sorry for the boy, but there had been nothing he could have done about it and pointing out to Harry that if he hadn’t left then, he would have been late for his morning classes. Harry had been annoyed by that response, it had felt like his fifth year again and he hadn’t liked it one bit. He felt he should open the notebook as soon as he could. He hated being with his hands tied and that was exactly how it felt, since no matter how hard he tried, the damn thing didn’t loosen one bit.

It was two days later when he finally decided to ask Hermione for help. It was Saturday late morning and they sat in the Common Room, revising for the exams again, but he couldn’t keep his mind on the subject. He knew that his future depended on his score, but it wasn’t the NEWTs they were preparing for, after all, and he had managed with even less knowledge than he had by then in previous years, anyway.

“Harry, are you paying any attention to what I’m saying?” Hermione asked exasperatedly after he had repeated the same question for the third time in fifteen minutes.

“Yeah, sorry,” he said, “got a bit distracted, I guess,” he admitted and tried to focus on the topic Hermione was going through with him again. No matter how hard he tried to keep his eyes open and his mind present, it didn’t work, so after a couple of minutes, he gave in to the urge to relax a bit.

“I don’t think I can stuff more of this shit into my head, sorry. I’m going to rest for a bit,” he announced, closed his book resolutely and put all the parchments spread all over the table to one pile before making himself comfortable on the sofa and closing his eyes. Hermione sent him an ugly look, clearly saying what she thought about his attitude, but she kept silent and revising her notes, muttering something under her breath. Harry watched her for a while, before making up his mind. She was his only chance.

“‘Mione, if you wanted to keep something locked, I mean really locked so no one could open it with _Alohomora_ or something that simple, what would you choose?” he asked her as casually as he could, letting his head fall back on the headrest so she couldn’t see his face.

 “It would depend on what exactly I’d want to keep locked, of course,” she answered without looking up from her notes. “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering about the Prince’s book,” he lied, knowing that this was a dangerous path. However, since he hadn’t come up with anything better, he just went with it. Hermione looked up at him immediately, or so he thought, because he could feel her piercing gaze on himself.

“Harry, don’t you tell me that you still have that vile thing? After what happened to Malfoy!” Her voice was suddenly much louder than it had been seconds ago. “I thought you’ve left it in the Room of Requirement, haven’t you?” she asked fiercely.

“Of course I have, but I thought that maybe it wasn’t as clever as it seemed. I mean, what if someone actually stumbled upon it in the future? Shouldn’t we have locked it so no one could open it?” he asked, slightly ashamed for lying so blatantly in her face, and pointedly continued glaring at the ceiling to avoid her eyes.

“I didn’t give this much thought, actually,” she answered, sounding relieved but also a bit intrigued. “What exactly do you have in mind?” The sound of her book being put on the table was a clear sign that her attention had been caught.

“I don’t know, if I did, I wouldn’t have asked you, would I?” He at last looked at her. She was now turned in his direction, playing absent-mindedly with a quill without noticing that tip of her fingers were stained with the ink. “I would probably use some kind of a lock or something to keep the book together, though,” he offered.

“Well, I have to admit that most of the spells I know are commonly used. But I can do some research after the exams, okay? I’m sure there will be plenty of such spells.” Hermione looked as if she couldn’t wait for going back to library and getting her hands dusty from all the old tomes which hadn’t been touched in the last fifty years. Harry wished she would have shown such an avid interest in everything he’d told her that year, included Malfoy’s suspicious behaviour. He also wanted to tell her that they couldn’t afford to wait, because someone could find the book every _minute_ , but was stopped by Ron, who had chosen the moment to return to the Common Room from his daily dose of flying with their school mates.

“What are you talking about, guys?” Ron asked without preamble and threw himself on the couch next to Harry.

“Nothing you will need for your exams, Ronald,” Hermione retorted sharply. She was still peeved at him for refusing her offer to create a colourful timetable for his revising. Harry had planned to do the same, but after he had seen how upset Hermione had been, he had decided to let her create the damn thing.

“Oh, really? In that case, let me join you,” Ron replied, the sarcastic tone clearly saying that he didn’t give a damn what she thought about his reluctance to stick his nose into a book (except _Quidditch Through The Ages_ , which didn’t make Hermione happy in the slightest). Harry knew that with this kind of conversation he would have gotten old before getting some answers or a solution to his problem.

“I was only telling Hermione that I think we should secure the Prince’s book so no one could open it,” he explained to Ron briefly.

Ron scowled. “I thought it was lost in the Room of Requirement, wasn’t it?”

“Of course it was, but what if someone found it? I have found it once, after all, and we don’t know anything about the book, only that it is full of nasty curses,” Harry told him and without waiting for his reply, continued, “So I thought that maybe we could put some kind of charmed lock on it so it wouldn’t be possible to open it.”

Ron looked thoughtful for a moment. “It’s a good idea, Harry, but we would have to use some other way to keep it closed, locks are utterly useless. If someone wanted to open it, I am sure they would find a way.”

Harry almost choked on his breath. “What do you mean, about locks being useless?” he asked, noticing Hermione watching Ron, obviously waiting for an explanation, too.

“Well, of course, if the lock is charmed, it’s more difficult to get inside without having the key, since there is about a million possible counter-spells you could use. But the thing is, you don’t actually need a counter-spell to open it. Of course, it also depends on the spell, but only a couple of them are not possible to overcome,” Ron explained. “What, I _do_ know some things,” he remarked when he noticed the expressions on both of his best friends’ faces. Hermione was gaping at him unashamedly and Harry had to admit that his jaw might have loosened slightly, too. His heart was beating faster now and he didn’t dare to hope he could be so lucky and actually get some advise, and from _Ron_ , of all people.

“But how would you open it?” Harry asked, trying to sound less excited than he actually felt.

 “I wouldn’t come up with the idea myself, but dad did. You know mum and how she hates his experiments with Muggle stuff? Well, once she got really angry since he had almost managed to blow up our barn, so she took a big lock and used all the spells she knew to keep it locked. I know that, because I watched the whole scene.” Ron evidently enjoyed being the centre of attention, particularly because of Hermione, of course. He sent her preening looks now and then. Harry, however, didn’t notice any of that, since his eyes were hanging on Ron’s lips. “Of course, it took him five minutes to get in the barn again, not that mom has ever found out. But he told Fred and George and they told me then. “

“Yeah, nice story, but how did he do it?” Hermione was getting anxious as well, it seemed.

“Simply. With a piece of an old wire,” Ron announced as if it explained why the Earth was round and Harry could have kissed him right there and then, hadn’t Ron been his best friend. _Male_ best friend. He stared at the redhead for a couple of seconds before jumping to his feet.

“Where are you going, mate?” Ron asked, obviously surprised by Harry’s reaction.

“Oh, just remembered I’ve left something in the lockers,” Harry mumbled, hurrying to the portrait hole. “We’ll discuss it later, okay? And thanks for the input,” he smiled before turning his back on both of his best friends.

“And I thought, the two of you of all people would have known such a cheap Muggle trick,” he could hear Ron mumble before the portrait closed behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's another chapter and I hope you like it. SPaG issues will be taken care of later when I get back to it, I simply wanted to post the chapter as soon as possible.  
> Reviews are welcome.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Harry sat on a bench next to a wall in the Locker Rooms, the notebook in his hands. He’d been staring at it for the last couple of minutes, suddenly unsure if what he was about to do was right. When he had left the Common Room and hastily made his way towards the Quidditch pitch, all he could think about was the book and that he’d finally see its content. He hadn’t minded the terrible weather, the big drops falling on his head and shoulders, drenching him to the bone, nor the puddles splashing around his feet with his every step. He felt excited and anxious and his mind was already in the Lockers, hoping that he would be left alone there with enough time to figure everything out. However, now, when he held the book in his trembling fingers with a mean to actually open it, he wasn’t so sure he’d made the right choice coming there. What if the book was actually cursed as the necklace Katie’d touched? Nobody would come looking for him soon and if they did, it might be too late. He didn’t have the luxury of allowing himself to gamble with his life like that, there were too many things depending on him being alive. On the other hand, he couldn’t see himself explaining anything about the book to anyone either, and it would surely be necessary had he gone to his dormitory with it.

So he just stared at it, unable to make a decision. His body begun to tremble, since although he’d cast a quick Drying charm over himself as soon as he stepped inside, he was still cold from the rain and, frankly, taking a jacket was the last thing on his mind when leaving the Gryffindor Tower. Once again, Harry’d taken action faster than his brain had managed to catch up.

Harry’s gaze fell on the black cover again. It looked innocent, but since when was anything a _Malfoy_ had to do something with innocent? He ran his fingers slowly across the black leather, as if trying to feel the magic with the tips of them, but it didn’t help him any. His look turned to the bench next to him, where a small piece of wire was laid. It wasn’t an actual wire, only a piece of a twig from one of the school brooms, but it was all he could come up with so he'd figured it would just have to do. Now he only needed to get to work. Nothing, except his brain, was stopping him.

Harry took the wire in his fingers and inhaled deeply. He wanted know what the notebook was, there was no argument about that. He _needed_ to know. He knew he would open it sooner or later, so why put it off any longer? His brain had never stopped him before. That was how he was.

He put the book in between his knees and positioned it there, the lock facing the ceiling. His knees pressed both of the covers together, so it would hold firmly and wouldn’t fall on the floor. The twig was too small to hold it comfortably and it kept slipping between his trembling fingers, but a couple of minutes and a sweaty forehead later, he managed to stick it in the key hole and started turning it inside it. It took longer than he’d thought it would and he was ready to give up, but then he heard an almost inaudible _click_ and the lock loosened. Harry threw the twig away and it rolled with a loud _ping_ somewhere under the nearest row of lockers.

Harry put the book carefully on his knees and removed the lock completely. _This is it_ , he thought, without realizing he was holding his breath. His heart was beating so fast and strong he could feel it against his chest as he took the front cover in his fingers and turned it.

There was nothing on the first page, but on the other were some scribbles and a sketch of a strangely shaped cabinet. Harry’s gut tightened at the sight of it and he was sure he’d seen it somewhere before, but he couldn’t remember where. It must have been a long time ago. Instead of trying to recall where he’d encountered the weird piece of furniture, he focused on the notes, trying to figure out what it all was about.

It looked as a plan of construction, all kinds of measures were written next to every part of the cabinet, every piece of wood. Some of them Harry knew, some of them he didn’t, but all in all, he couldn’t find anything out of ordinary. Except the fact that Malfoy was obviously interested in carpentering, which was odd enough, but it wasn’t any dark magic Harry’d been prepared to find.

Harry sat more comfortably, having calmed a bit since the book hadn’t obviously contained any curse which would cause him any imminent harm and turned to the next page. It was full of Malfoy’s neat writing, most of the words were crossed out, some of them in an obviously furious manner, since the page was torn in places where the tip of a quill had pressed too deep.

Harry managed to work out some of them. It was a list of spells Harry had never heard of , but from the look of it, it didn’t contain any dark magic. He stared at it for a while, thinking if the spells had something in common and why Malfoy had written them all down only to black them out later, when a thought occurred to him. The list was very similar to the one he’d made when trying to find the right spell to open the notebook. He’d looked up as many spells he could and had written them all down, and when they hadn’t worked, he’d angrily crossed them, disappointed that he’d been unsuccessful again. He looked back at the page. That was it, that had to be what Malfoy was trying to do. He was trying to find a spell or charm to do something and, from the look at the torn parchment in front of him, he hadn’t have more success than Harry had. He must have been desperate, Harry thought, as he read through a few more pages. The spells he saw looked more and more complicated and, from what Harry understood, also darker, but they were no Unforgivables, either.

Harry didn’t know how long he’d stayed in the Locker Room, he only knew that the notebook made him even more confused than he’d been before. He didn’t understand any of it, he didn’t know the spells which he’d worked out from the scribbles. There were some more sketches and plans of the same cabinet, but Harry couldn’t figure out what it all was supposed to mean and his head started to hurt. He looked at his watch, only to find out that dinner time was approaching fast. With a sigh he stood up, closed the book and shoved it back into his pocket. He was disappointed and considered simply burning the damn thing for a second, but despite that it hadn’t revealed anything dangerous, his guts were telling him that there was more to it all. Maybe he’d find something in the last few pages he didn’t go through yet.

With that thought, Harry cast _Impervius_ and a _Warming Charm_ over his head and headed back to the castle.

 

It was suspicious, Harry had though a couple of times before, that the Daily Prophet hadn’t written a single word about Malfoy’s state and it was a bit alarming since the newspapers had always written about everything which could make a powerful headline. Every morning since the incident he’d been expecting the papers full of gossip about Malfoy, but nothing was mentioned.. This evening, though, he didn’t give it a single thought. Which was a mistake, as it turned out. As soon as he entered the Great Hall and headed toward the Gryffindor table, he could hear excited whispers from all corners of the room and a shiver ran down his spine.

He sat next to Ron and Hermione like he usually did.

“What’s happened?” he asked, reaching for his plate already full of a kidney pie.

“The Daily Prophet,” Hermione explained readily and pointed at the scroll next to her plate with a disgusted grimace. “They finally printed an article about Malfoy.”

“Took them long enough,” Ron muttered across the table with a mouthful.

“Is it bad?” Harry asked.

“Well, read it for yourself,” Hermione replied, but Harry didn’t have to touch the Prophet to know that it would be full of crap. It always was. The thing that mattered, though, was how far-fetched the crap was.

Harry grabbed the newspaper, straightened it and immediately lost all his appetite. The front page was dominated by a large headline saying _A Malfoy heir commits attempt_ _at suicide_ in bold letters, which could be expected. The problem was the article below. It was short, but it was enough to make Harry’s blood boil. He’d been prepared to read many things, but the Prophet surprised him once again. A part of it stood up in front of his eyes:

 “‘ _Draco has been different since the end of the last school year,’ says his good friend and schoolmate, clearl_ y _implying the imprisonment of Draco’s father, Lucius Malfoy’s, who’s been convicted of breaking into the Ministry of Magic in June last year on orders of Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. ‘He was more closed and he didn’t talk to anyone if he didn’t have to, but other than that, he seemed to be doing fine. I can’t imagine why he’d want to kill himself,’ they add. We can only imagine how difficult it must be for a boy of Draco’s age to have his father taken away from him._

_However, there are some speculations circling around the Wizarding World about the whole matter, indicating the incident might have not been a suicide after all. As our unnamed informant revealed to us, Draco has been attacked by another student a few weeks prior to the assumed suicide and had to be hospitalized for a few days. Our source doesn’t know what spell or curse was used, however, it’s safe to say it wasn’t anything ordinary. ‘Dumbledore did what he could to keep it out of newspapers,’ says the informant, ‘Most of the students don’t even know it happened.’_

_This information puts the events in a rather different light. The Ministry will surely be interested in investigating the whole incident properly.”_

Harry slammed the parchment on the table.

“Harry, are you alright?” Hermione asked tentatively.

“The truth? No, I am not,” he snapped at her and then realized it wasn’t her fault. “How? How can they know what happened in the bathroom?” he added in a milder tone.

“Harry, I know it’s annoying, but you have to admit, it had to come up somewhere. I was surprised that the papers didn’t get wind of it back right after it happened,” she answered. “What’s more important is who. Who told them? Who knew about it and let the information slip and why haven’t they done it before?”

“Well, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Ron joined the conversation, whispering across the table so no one could hear him. “If they knew it was Harry who hurt Malfoy, they would have told them, wouldn’t they? The Prophet never misses an opportunity to come up with some dirt about you, mate.”

Harry nodded, having calmed a bit, but he still was angry. He took a fork in his hand, preparing to take a bite of his almost cold food, when the anger washed over him again. He hit the table with the fork and a loud bang resonated through it. A few students raised their heads from their food, but Harry didn’t pay them any attention.

“You know what pisses me off?” he started and continued without waiting for an answer from either of his friends. “That this is what makes the headline. There wasn’t even a whisper about Katie or about you, Ron, was there? So why now?”

“I thought you were happy about that,” Hermione interrupted but he only frowned at her.

“I was and I still am, but that’s not the point, is it? I think that this article isn’t about informing the Wizarding World about a student almost dead, although it's Malfoy.”

“So what do you think it’s about, then?”

“I think it’s about discrediting Dumbledore once again.” Now when he’d told it aloud, it sounded even more likely than it had only in his head. 

“But if they wanted to do that, wouldn’t it be good for them to write about Katie, too?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, it would and I’ve been wondering about that, too. But I think that Dumbledore simply managed to keep it so low since only a couple of people were involved, all of them respecting him and if Dumbledore told them to keep the whole thing quiet, they did. But Malfoy is Malfoy and he might have told someone. And that someone informed the Prophet,” Hermione said, but it was as if Harry spoke himself.

“Yes, exactly,” he agreed, standing. “I’m done eating,” he announced and climbed over the bench they were sitting on. “See you later,” he added and headed from the Great Hall. He wanted to be alone.

 

As soon as he entered the dormitory, he kicked off his muddy shoes and flopped backwards on his bed. He stared at the canopy above, his head spinning. A couple of days ago, he’d had a clear picture about Malfoy. But after what had happened, he didn’t know what to think anymore. He was so sure that Malfoy was a Death Eater and a complete prat to top it, but how could he? Death Eaters were supposed to be emotionless bastards and although Harry knew that things could never be only black and white and that even Voldemort’s hate was born out of some kind of feelings, no matter how sick they might have been, he'd never have believed that a Death Eater would commit a suicide. That just didn’t fit.

He sat up and propped his back against the bed-head, taking the small black book once again out of his pocket. It didn’t look so mysterious anymore as he knew what was inside. It was a simple notebook with a couple of scribbles, nothing he’d hoped he’d find among Draco Malfoy’s property.

He flipped through its pages without thinking, only to do something with his hands. He turned the last page and gasped. There, at the back cover, was attached a small envelope. He wanted to slap himself for missing it before, but now that he’d seen it, his heart started beating faster again. It seemed he found something after all.

He unstuck the envelope from its place and opened it. There was a sheet of parchment, neatly folded into a perfect rectangular shape. Harry examined it from both sides before unfolding it and straightening it with his trembling fingers. He immediately recognized Draco’s neat script. He cast a soft _Lumos_ , aimed the stream of light towards the parchment to see it more clearly and began to read. It took him a couple of seconds to take the first line in, but when he did, his eyes widened at the realization of what he’d got hold of.

It was a letter addressed to Dumbledore.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry stared at the parchment in front of him with wide eyes. How could he have missed it during his first inspection of the notebook? His mind reeled with questions. Why would Malfoy write a letter to the Headmaster without telling him in person? And why would he keep it locked in his secret book? Did it contain some dangerous information? Or was it simply some kind of a death note? Well, Harry supposed, there was only one way to find out.

Moving into a more comfortable position, he carefully straightened the document and started to read.

_Dear Headmaster,_

_I hope the Unbreakable Vow will have been broken by the time this gets into your hands and that you will be able to read what I am about to say._

_There is danger hanging upon your head and I feel obligated to let you know about it. It was me who cursed Katie Bell and poisoned Ronald Weasley, but both of these cases were supposed to come out differently. You were supposed to be the victim._

_I failed and I am happy I did and that no one was harmed in my foolish attempts to outsmart one of the greatest wizards of our time. I also realized that I don’t want to play the part I’ve been given in this war. I might agree with some of the beliefs the Dark Lord holds, but I do not approve of the means he uses.  This, however, leaves me in quite a predicament. If I don’t do what I’m asked, I and my parents will be killed. I am no seer, but even I can tell when my time is over. However, I want to finish it all under my own conditions._

_As you may have already guessed, the order to kill you came from the Dark Lord as a punishment for my Father’s failure in the Department of Mysteries.  However, if I was the only one after you, I wouldn’t have bothered with this letter. Frankly, I am not. Professor Snape promised my Mother to finish the job for me. Do not trust the man._

_I do not wish my suicide to be seen as an act of heroism. It’s far from that. I chose this as a way out and I hope that it will not only save my parents but also help to end this war sooner._

_Sincerely,_

_Draco Lucius Malfoy_

As soon as Harry’s brain caught up with the last word, the parchment fell from his trembling fingers. His brain felt like exploding in the next second. He blinked, trying to get it to function properly and straighten his thoughts.

What he’s just learned was too much for him. He’d been after something like this for a long time, practically for the whole school year, but now, when the proof he’d been after right all along lied in front of him, it didn’t feel victorious at all. Maybe it was the fact that Malfoy wasn’t the kind of a villain Harry’s brain had created during his early years at Hogwarts or maybe it was the fact that the only reason he was able to prove it was death. Of course, Malfoy wasn’t dead yet, but his chances of survival were unknown. The boy was prepared to die and that was what mattered.

He read the letter once more and suddenly his chest tightened. _As a punishment for my Father’s failure_ , Malfoy wrote. It meant that Malfoy was punished for something he, Harry, thwarted for his father. If it wasn’t for Harry’s refusal to learn Occlumency, then more than one Sirius’s life could have been saved. Harry was grateful that Lucius Malfoy’d ended up in Azkaban, although for how long no one was sure, but he also realized that if the whole incident hadn’t happened, Malfoy wouldn’t be driven to this kind of desperation. He wouldn’t have a reason to kill himself. Harry felt like suffocating.

And Snape, the bastard, was after Dumbledore, too. He must have known about Draco’s problems and he didn’t do a thing to help him, to stop him from –

Harry jumped from the bed and shot out of the room, almost knocking down a third year boy as he rushed down the stairs and through the common room. He had to warn Dumbledore as soon as possible, his life was in danger and now, when Malfoy couldn’t, Snape would for sure try to finish the job.

Harry could hear Ron calling after him, but he only waved him off, paying no mind to his raised eyebrow and Hermione’s worried expression, and continued quickly out of the Gryffindor Tower and towards Dumbledore’s office.

He only stopped in front of the Gargoyle, clutching Malfoy’s letter to his chest, his breathing ragged from the run.

“Cockroach Clusters,” he rasped, watching the Gargoyle step aside and letting him enter to the moving staircase. He run up and without bothering with knocking, he simply barged into Headmaster’s office and stopped short.

There, opposite to Dumbledore, was sitting the Potion Master.

 

Harry thought that whatever it was he had done in his past lives, it must have been pretty horrible if his bad luck (and madmen trying to kill him since he was a baby) was anything to go by. If there was one person Harry didn’t want to see in that moment, it was Snape, who was comfortably seated in one of the leather armchairs, a tray with tea and a bowl with Dumbledore’s favourite lemon drops in front of him. He glared at Harry with his usual frown. Dumbledore looked more surprised than anything.

The anxiety from informing Dumbledore about the content of Malfoy letter became rapidly overrode by the pure anger Harry felt towards the greasy-haired man. It didn’t help when Snape opened his mouth and sneered at him.

“Potter, have you ever heard of the concept of manners?” he asked devilishly. “Ten points from Gryffindor!”

House points were the last thing on Harry’s mind by then, however. The rage bubbling in his chest threatened to overwhelm him and he had to control himself so he wouldn’t start to tremble.

“You,” he spat, “you won’t tell me anything about manners, you bastard!” he yelled, not caring that it was his Professor he was talking to. Snape straightened, his frown deepening. A dangerous gleam flashed in his beady black eyes.

“Excuse me? How dare you talk to me like this, Potter!” he barked back at Harry, but before the boy managed to explain to him what exactly he thought of him, Dumbledore interrupted.

“Severus, please, could you leave the two of us?” He talked in calm soothing voice, but without his usual twinkle in his eyes.

“No, I think that he,” Harry pointed a finger in Snape’s direction, „should stay here and tell you himself.” Now Harry turned to Snape as well. “Tell him, you sick bastard, how you lied to him and what you’ve promised to Narcissa Malfoy,” he spat, his voice almost dripping with disdain.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mister Potter, but I assure you that your behaviour will not go unpunished,” Snape answered evenly, although his eyes wandered in the Headmaster’s direction with a certain degree of uncertainty. Dumbledore himself didn’t look to be bothered in the slightest. He sat behind his desk, watching the whole scene, before reaching for one of the lemon drops.

Harry’s grip on the letter tightened.

“Stop it, Snape, I know everything,” he hissed dangerously, taking a step forward.

“I highly doubt that, but enlighten me,” Snape sneered and sat back in his chair, looking almost amused.

Harry shuddered with rage.

“I know it was Malfoy who tried to kill Katie and Ron and I also know it wasn’t supposed to be them to be the victims. It was you, Professor Dumbledore,” he announced addressing the Headmaster, who didn’t look surprised at all and kept sucking on his drop. “I also know that you promised Narcissa Malfoy to finish the job if Draco wouldn’t be able to. So go on now, and tell us it’s not true, you pathetic coward. I have a proof this time,” Harry exclaimed, squeezing the parchment in his hand.

Snape looked a bit uneasy, but all in all, he didn’t show any sign of nervousness one was supposed to when convicted of a crime. He simply threw a look at Dumbledore.

“Harry, I must ask you to sit down for a minute,” Dumbledore said, still in his infuriatingly calm voice.

Harry looked at him in complete disbelief. “I’ve just told you about attempts to murder you and you want me to _sit_ down?”

“Severus, please, we will finish our conversation later,” Dumbledore gestured towards the door and Snape slowly stood up.

“Professor, did you hear what I’ve just told you? He wants to kill you,” Harry almost cried in frustration. It felt like talking to a brick wall.

“I’ve heard you, Harry. Please, sit at Severus place,” Dumbledore repeated his request and Harry could only stare.

The Potion Master headed towards the door, nodded in Dumbledore direction and turned his glare at Harry.

“Mister Potter, detention for next two weeks for your inexcusable behaviour,” he said in cold voice, before exiting the office and slamming the door behind him.

Harry stood frozen in the middle of the room, unable to make a move. Malfoy’s letter in his hand was drenched in sweat. Dumbledore was looking at him with a serious expression, but didn’t say a word. A minute passed and when the Headmaster kept silent, Harry slowly approached his table and sat at the empty armchair.

A cup of tea, catcher with milk and a tray with biscuits appeared in front of him, but he didn’t touch any of that. Having a tea party wasn’t the purpose of his visit, after all.

“So, Harry, explain to me, how did you learn about Mister Malfoy’s task?” Dumbledore said in his usual voice and gestured towards the refreshment. “And please, help yourself.”

Harry didn’t know if he’d been caught in some alternate reality, but it certainly felt that way.

“I’m sorry, Professor, but I don’t understand. Professor Snape is planning your murder and you act as if nothing is going on. I know that I’ve said many times before that I don’t trust the man, but now I have a proof. And by now, Snape will be on his way to Hogsmeade! We should call the Aurors!”

Dumbledore nodded his head before glaring at him over his half-moon shaped spectacles.

“We will not call anyone, Harry. And most definitely not the Magical Law Enforcement Department,” he said. “Tell me, my boy, what proof do you have to accuse Professor Snape of those deeds?”

 Harry suddenly felt reluctant to let go of Malfoy’s letter, but he presented the old man with it. He took it in fingers of his healthy hand and Harry noticed that the injured one looked far worse than it had the last time Harry saw it. It resembled now a half-burnt twig, the disease'd spread over the whole forearm, at least from what Harry could see - the rest of the arm was hidden under Professor’s robes. Harry suspected that the greyish colouring of the skin he’d seen a few months ago wasn’t an indication of anything good, but he wouldn’t have expect that the injury would be so extended. He shuddered internally, but didn’t comment on it.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore’s sight travelled across the offered parchment. When he finished reading, he laid it on the desk in front of him and sighed deeply.

“Harry, I hope you realize that this was intended for me,” he said and Harry had the decency to look a bit sheepish. “Next time, please, read only correspondence intended for you. However, now that you know the content, I believe there are some things I should explain to you.” His voice sounded almost tired. “First though, I need a bit of refreshment myself,” he said and with a flick of his wand, another steaming cup appeared in front of him. Harry was watching him, still unsure what the hell was going on.

“But, Professor, now that you know that what I told you is true, shouldn’t we call –“ Harry started but the old man stopped him with a resolute shake of his head.

“No, Harry. You see, the war is a dreadful experience, but first of all, it is a trial of faith in people around us. Yours has been tried more than anyone else’s, but I ask you, as I’ve done many times before, trust me now when I tell you that Professor Snape is not trying to kill me.” Harry’s eyes grew wide and his mouth was agape. “I have known about Mister Malfoy’s ordeal, Professor Snape informed me as soon as he learned about it. I assure you that I am not in any danger from Severus. Now tell me, how did you come across this document?” he gestured towards the parchment in front of him.

Harry wasn’t sure how many more shocks his brain was able to cope with. He gripped the handles of the armchair and tried to remain as calm as possible, but the sudden rage that washed over him outdid everything he’s felt that evening.

“What? You knew?” he uttered through clenched teeth. His head was spinning but pictures from the previous year were projecting themselves before his eyes. “You let Malfoy do all those things?”

Dumbledore only nodded in agreement and didn’t say anything to defend himself. Harry jumped from his seat, palms clenched into fists so tightly his nails were cutting into his skin.

“And you didn’t warn anyone? Why didn’t you do anything about it, why didn’t you stop Malfoy from his attempts? What about Katie? And...and Ron? He could be dead if I and professor Slughorn weren’t fast enough! How could you do this...” He was yelling now, marching from one side of the room to the other.

“I was not happy when I heard about what happened to Miss Bell or Mister Weasley, but there wasn’t anything I could have done about it. Mister Malfoy couldn’t have the knowledge of me being familiar with his task. He might have grown desperate and recourse to some radical measures,” he explained, but it didn’t help Harry a bit. He fumed with anger and had to restrain himself from hitting something. Fawkes creaked somewhere behind him, obviously sensing the tension.

“Desperate measures? Like committing suicide, you mean?” He almost felt like laughing. What he was hearing  simply couldn’t be true.

“I am not happy about Mister Malfoy’s conditions any more than you are, but I have to see the bigger picture here. No one has died and that is the most important thing.” The calmness of his voice was driving Harry crazy.

“No. You are wrong. The most important thing here is that you knew and didn’t do anything. You could have helped him. You knew he didn’t have anyone to tell about it and even if he did, he couldn’t have done it because of the stupid Vow. You could have helped him, saved him. You should have done that. Katie and Ron...They were hurt because of you and your bigger picture. I don’t care about that. I care about people.” Harry’s last words weren’t more than a whisper. He looked at the Headmaster and felt the coldness spread from his heart through his chest. “I don’t have anything more to talk to you about,” he hissed. He grabbed Malfoy’s letter from Dumbledore’s desk and quickly left the office.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey. So it took almost three months to update and I am sorry for that. There were lots of things going on and I didn't have time to write. I get home pretty late almost every day and then I am simply too tired to write, especially in a foreign language. However, I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Again, sorry for mistakes, I will get back to the chapter later to correct them (if I discover them, of course).

Harry slammed the door into Dumbledore’s office with more force than was appropriate, but he didn’t care. He felt betrayed and the anger and coldness spreading through his chest, lungs and heart were almost overwhelming. He didn’t notice the Gargoyle guarding the moving staircase throwing him a dirty look or the way students backed off at the sight of his glare full of rage and clenched fists.

He barked the password at the Fat Lady, who grimaced and opened her mouth to comment on his manners, but then seemed to think twice about it. Harry burst into the Gryffindor Common Room and headed directly to his bedroom. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, much less being asked questions about what had happened. He was almost at the foot of the stairs leading to his dormitory when Ginny Weasley stepped into his way.

“Harry, I really need to talk to you, would you have a minute?” she asked, oblivious to the emotional state Harry was in. That was the last thing he wanted to hear right now.

“No,” was the only answer she got. She frowned at him, her lip curling.

“That is your only answer? Seriously?” her voice trembled and she crossed her arms on her chest. Her eyes gleamed dangerously.

“Sorry, Gin, but now is not the right time,” Harry answered as calmly as possible, clenching Malfoy’s letter in his fist. She wouldn’t back down though.

“But it never is! You can’t just kiss me in front of everyone and then not have time to talk about it!” she raised her voice, earning the two of them attention from everyone in the room. Harry didn’t care.

“Listen,” he said, “I promise you we will talk about it, but now it’s seriously not the best moment.” With that, he side-stepped around her and quickly made his way to the dormitory. He didn’t look back once, ignoring her shouting something after him. Having to explain to her that no, he didn’t want to get together with her, wasn’t on top of his to-do list. Frankly, it wasn’t on the list at all. He realised that his behaviour was pretty shitty, but there was only so much he could take in one day. Andthe line was crossed already at least twice.

He stormed into his dorm, slammed the door behind him, fell on his bed and drew the curtains around it with a swift flick of his wand. All he wanted now was to be left alone for a while, to let everything sink in. To try to understand and maybe shout a bit into his pillow to let his anger out.

As it turned out, no one actually cared about his wishes because a moment later, he could hear the door to the dorm being opened.

“What the hell was that, mate?” Ron bellowed at him and although the sound was a bit muffled by the curtains, he could tell that Ron was pissed.

Harry considered pretending not being there at all, but he knew that would be pathetic, especially when Ron obviously knew Harry was indeed present in the room.

“Why the hell did you treat her that way? What has she done to you?” Ron’s voice was suddenly much closer to the bed than a few seconds ago. “Get the hell from the bed and explain it to me, will you?”

Harry sat slowly up and crossed his legs in front of himself before taking a deep breath and drawing back half of the curtains. Sure enough, Ron was standing in front of him, a murderous expression on his face. Hermione stood in the door, biting her lip nervously.

Ron took a breath to say something, but then noticed Harry’s expression and fell silent.

“Harry, what happened?” said Hermione, stepping inside the room and closing the door behind her before she made her way to Harry’s bed and sat next to him.

“I am still pissed at you, but seriously mate, you look terrible,” Ron commented, his anger obviously evaporating at the sight of his best friend.

Harry didn’t know what to say. There was so much going on which he hadn’t told them and now he didn’t know where to start. He felt like shit, anger slowly dissolving into numbness and feeling of complete betrayal. It hurt to know he’s been played by someone whom he’d trusted and considered to be one of the kindest and most noble men he’d ever known. But Dumbledore had only seen the bigger picture, letting Malfoy drown in desperation because it fit into his plan of saving the world. Harry didn’t care if it was because there was no other way or simply because the Headmaster didn’t care. Who was he to decide who deserved to be helped and who didn’t? No matter how noble the intentions were, no one had that right.

Another wave of anger flashed through him at the memory of Malfoy’s paper-white face, almost invisible against the pillow in the infirmary. At the desperation he’d seen in him that day in the bathroom, before he’d hit him with _Sectumsempra_. How could Harry be so oblivious to the fact that the git was actually neck-deep in shit? Was he himself so blind not to see past the curtain of hate he’d held the Slytherin that he hadn’t seen the desperation and utter helplessness when he’d seen him cry? These thoughts terrified him.

“Harry...” Hermione rubbed his shoulder, “what’s going on?” Harry snapped his head up at the sound of her voice, he’d almost forgotten they were still there.

“Yeah, you’ve been really weird lately, man,” added Ron, making himself comfortable on his own bed. “Is it about Ginny?”

Harry only shook his head.

“So tell us. Or tell someone else. Go to Dumbledore if something’s bothering you, but don’t close everyone out,” said Hermione and Harry felt a sudden urge to laugh hysterically at her words. To Dumbledore, indeed. As if he hadn’t. He stood up and felt the rage boil inside him again. He marched a couple of times back and forth across the room, before taking the first book he could reach and throwing it at the opposite wall with as much force as he could muster.

“You wanna know what happened?” he asked, his voice cold and angry. “Then have a look. I hope that now you’ll finally believe me.” With that he dropped Malfoy’s sweat-drenched suicide note into Hermione’s lap. She looked at him, uncertain, but straightened the parchment and began to read. Ron moved from his bed to her side and read over her shoulder.

Harry could see her eyes growing wide as the content of the text sank in.

“Oh my God, Harry. Where did you get this?” she asked in trembling voice.

“In Malfoy’s locker room,” he said, not bothering to explain anything more, although he knew he would have to answer questions about that later.

“I can’t believe this, he’s just a boy and Professor Snape —“ she began, but was interrupted.

“That SON OF A BITCH!” Ron yelled so loudly it resonated through the whole room. “Fucking Death Eater! Serves him right he’s half dead now!” He jumped from his place, his face white, contrasting alarmingly with the colour of his hair. His hands were clenched in fists and trembling slightly. “And to think I probably saved him!”

“SHUT UP, RON!” Harry yelled back at his friend.

“He almost killed me and a friend of mine, I think that I deserve to say what I think about the little fuck because that’s exactly what he is and—“

“Ron, be quiet!” Hermione hushed. “I know you are angry but didn’t you get it? He was threatened!” she spoke in a fierce tone.

“I don’t care if he was threatened or not, he’s always been a right git to me and now he got what he deserved!” Ron argued but Harry had none of it.

“Ron, do you listen to yourself? He’s been desperate! I know he’s been a prat, but he didn’t deserve this! What would you have done in his position? It doesn’t excuse his behaviour to us, but this isn’t about it. He’s been used as a tool, don’t you get it?”

“Whatever you say,” Ron answered, but it was obvious his opinions were unchanged. To him he would always be the boy who tried to kill him, no matter the reasons. In a way, Harry could understand him, but he simply had a different opinion. It was interesting how fast his view could change in a couple of hours.

“Harry, you have to inform Professor Dumbledore about this. He needs to know that he’s in danger....” Hermione said in a hurried and pleading tone.

This time, Harry actually did laugh. It wasn’t a happy laugh at all. It was helpless and maniacal.

“Where do you think I went before?” he said and his face morphed into a sour grimace.

“So Dumbledore knows now and everything is fine. For sure the Aurors are on their way for Professor Snape...Oh my God, I can’t believe it. I’m so sorry, Harry, for not believing you, I really am...” Her eyes were full of tears. Harry watched her, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t care if they believed him or no, at this point, he would have been much happier if his speculations had turned out false.  He threw another book at the wall, although it brought him no relief. Both his friends watched him in disbelief.

“Harry? What is going on? Don’t tell me that you’re actually sorry for the bastard,” Ron said, the last word was almost spat.

“Oh, I am, but the letter is not why, not exactly....” Harry said calmly, his voice once again cold as ice.

“So why, Harry? What else happened? Nothing happened to Dumbledore, right? And Snape is in custody, so what’s going on? You’ve always told us he’s a sneaky bastard.”

“Nope. Snape is not in custody. And what’s better, he won’t be.”

“What do you mean by that? Surely Dumbledore will do his best to catch him, now that he knows abo—“ Hermione insisted, but didn’t finish her sentence. Harry knew what she was about to say before the words had the chance to escape her mouth.

“Dumbledore knows about Snape. He knows about Malfoy. But it gets better,” Harry let out a chilly laugh,” He’s known all along. Snape told him everything months ago. He knew that Malfoy was after him, he knew what situation he was in and he didn’t do anything about it.”

“That cannot be true, Harry, Professor Dumbledore would never endanger anyone like this,” said Hermione, a terror creeping into her voice.

“It was all because he had to see the bigger fucking picture,” Harry spat. Another dark laugh escaped his mouth.

“But that means that...” Ron’s voice wasn’t more than a whisper.

“Yeah, that means that you and Katie could be dead because Dumbledore has some twisted ideas about what is right and necessary. He practically made Malfoy kill himself believing he’s alone and he couldn’t tell anyone because of the fucking Vow.” Harry was beginning to feeling nauseous. Thinking it was one thing, but saying it aloud made the truth so much worse.

The room fell into complete silence. Harry sat back on his bed and tucked his knees under his chin, embracing his legs with his arms.

“What are you going to do, Harry?” Hermione asked silently. Harry shrugged. He didn’t have the slightest idea about how one should proceed in a situation like this.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “But I think I want to help Malfoy. I ...I just like feel that it’s my responsibility. I have almost killed him, Hermione...” he sighed.

“Oh, Harry...It’s not your fault. Neither was the incident in the bathroom. But if you feel like this...I will help you.” She patted his arm again and Harry could have kissed her right then for being simply her. His eyes found his best friend.

“Ron?”

“I...I’m sorry. I don’t know if I can help him. I mean, why should I? He didn’t do anything remotely good and I am not even counting his murder attempts.” He looked as if he wanted to vomit. “I don’t miss him in my life and I couldn’t care less if I didn’t have to see him ever again.” He was examining his hands, trying to avoid Harry’s gaze.

“Fine then,” Harry answered.

“And even if I wanted to help him, how would we do that? We even don’t know what happened to him. I mean I know he sliced his wrists, but that’s about it.” Ron added.

“That’s a good point, Harry. What do you suggest we do?” Hermione said.

“I think that he took some kind of poison because he had _Moste Potente Potions_ in his bag...” Harry said before he could think his answer through. It earned him a raised eyebrows from both of his friends.

“And how the bloody hell would you know that?” Ron beat Hermione in questioning him.

So Harry explained everything since the fateful afternoon after Quidditch. When he finished, Hermione looked scandalized and Harry knew that a lecture about personal privacy was coming at him in the near future. Luckily for him, Hermione seemed to think that right then wasn’t the best moment for her speech, either, and she settled with a glare in his direction and a comment about how unhealthy Harry’s obsession with Malfoy had become. That wasn’t something Harry was likely to accept, for as far as he knew, he was only being cautious – and with a good cause, too – but he was tired of arguing about his _non-_ obsessions again and over again.

Ron kept silent the whole time and when he suddenly spoke, it was a bit of a surprise for Harry. But what surprised him the most, Ron’s voice was calm, the same tone he used when he was in a middle of a particularly challenging game of chess  (which didn’t happen often since his usual opponent was Harry with his below-average playing skills). Harry had expected Ron to blow at his face, angry that Harry had kept another secret from him, but Ron didn’t look like doing anything of that kind.

“Well, it is all nice and interesting, but how does the knowledge about Malfoy borrowing a book with dangerous potions actually helps us? There are tens of poisons, half of them deadly. I honestly can’t fathom how we can figure out which one Malfoy used?”

Harry and Hermione both looked gobsmacked.

“So...so you will help?” Harry asked hesitantly. He was happy enough that his friend wasn’t angry with him and having Ron supporting him was something he wouldn’t have even hoped for.

“Yeah. He’s a prat and obnoxious asshole who tried to kill me, but I would like to punch him in the face for that and doing it while he’s unconscious is a bit meaningless...” Ron said and Harry wasn’t sure if Ron was only joking or deadly serious. Either way, he smiled at his friend crookedly and his smile widened a bit when he heard Hermione swallow a cackle.

“As I’ve told you before, Ronald, you have an emotional range of a teaspoon, honestly,” she said and the fondness for her friend warmed her voice. She turned to Harry then. “But despite all that, Harry, Ron’s right.”

Harry rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t thought of this little detail.

“Well, maybe we could just go through the poisons in the book and their effects and maybe one of them will fit Malfoy’s state...” he tried weakly.

“Or twenty. The book is full of these dangerous things. The Polyjuice was one of the mildest ones. And what do we know, maybe he combined more potions or created another one, he was always good in the subject.”

Another wave of silence spread through the room. Harry started to doubt his idea. Who was he to think that he could find a way to wake Malfoy when even Madame Pomfrey didn’t manage that?

“You know what? Let’s just give it a break for a moment, I will try to get the book tomorrow morning and we’ll see what we can do. It’s late now, anyway. And I have to go through one more chapter in Charms. Sorry, Harry.” Hermione threw him an apologetic look and stood up. “I always have the best ideas before I go to sleep, so maybe I’ll think of something.”

Harry sighed but nodded. If it was his way, he would run to the library now. He was always impatient. But Hermione was right, he knew. She usually was. Plus he didn’t have any idea how to proceed at all.

“Fine. I’ll stay here, am not in the mood for any company anyway,” he said and straightened his legs on the free place Hermione had been sitting before. She smiled at him weakly and headed towards to door.

“And you, Ron?” she turned toward the redhead, who didn’t appear to be preparing to leave with her.

“Will join you in a minute, okay?” he answered. She nodded, looking back and forth between him and Harry a couple of times and then left the room, closing the door silently behind her.

“Harry,...” started Ron and Harry immediately knew what this conversation would be about. He jerked his head up and stared as his friend, waiting for him to continue. “About Ginny...I don’t like the way you treat her.” _Here we go_ , Harry thought immediately. Ron took a deep breath. “I know we never talk about this stuff but she’s my sister for Merlin’s sake.”

“I know, Ron, and I’m sorry, but...”

“But you don’t want to get together with her, right?” It wasn’t a question.

Harry looked sheepish. Of course, he didn’t. He didn’t even understand what made him kiss her that afternoon in the first place, probably the euphoria from a won match. But could he tell Ron that? It was Ginny, his little sister.

It seemed, however, that Harry’s lack of response was answer enough for Ron.

“Come on, Harry. I don’t know why you kissed her and I don’t care. But tell her, okay? And tell her soon. She doesn’t deserve this.” With that Ron stood up and followed Hermione out of the room.

Harry watched the closed door a bit gobsmacked, before lying on his back, staring at the canopy above him. Maybe Ron deserved more credit than they all were giving him.


End file.
